


putting the 'man' in superman

by PoseidonsUnderpants



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Superman (Comics)
Genre: 5 + 1 things except i cant count, Alternate Universe, Clark Kent & Dick Grayson Friendship, Gen, This is just really soft okay, clark isnt superman but hes a super dude ya know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 05:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoseidonsUnderpants/pseuds/PoseidonsUnderpants
Summary: In a world where Clark Kent never put on a skin-tight blue suit and a red cape, the boys of Gotham find him anyway.





	putting the 'man' in superman

Clark always knew he was different. Even with a memory as good as his, he couldn’t pinpoint the one moment he had realised that, no matter what, he was never truly going to fit in.

Was it when he was four and he would play with real tractors the same way the other kids played with toy ones? Or when he was five, and before his first day of school his Ma and Pa had sat him down and told him, _you’re not allowed to play tag with the other kids, or do anything that might hurt them, okay? _Or when he was eight and almost the same height as his teacher? He had definitely known by the time he was ten, when after a day’s work on the farm his father fell straight asleep, and Clark, despite doing twice the work, stayed up for hours after his bed time stargazing.

It had been easier in his teenage years, surprisingly enough, because that was the time that all his friends were uncomfortable in their own bodies too, and they all felt misunderstood, and lonely, and different. They were all desperately trying to find their place in the world, like him; the problem was that they all seemed to find it when they reached adulthood. He was still searching.

Being a journalist was fine, he supposed. He got to work alongside people he loved and had a respectable salary. He felt like he was making a difference.

Sometimes at night he would look towards the stars, having learnt that he came from one of them—and knowing that there was a reason for his abilities, his isolation, had helped—and hear the cries and screams and pleads of millions of people in dozens of languages. Then, he’d remember learning about the Justice Society in history lessons at school. Remember unfocussed pictures of a red blur in Central City, glowing green lights above Coast City, and, rarer still, hysterical reports of a demon in black from Gotham. And then he’d think. Consider.

But, after a while, his parents’ concerned faces would appear in his mind, saying _you’re special, Clark, and that makes you a target—and, if you’re a target, so are we._

So, he’d go back inside and finish whatever article he was writing at the time.

He was where he needed to be.

-

The first time he met Dick Grayson, he could have killed him.

“Oh my God, Smallville, Perry _so_ wasted this on you,” Lois gushed, eyes wide as she examined the room.

“You’ve said that five times now, but have yet to explain why,” Clark commented. Jimmy smirked at him before taking a picture of a man whose expensive suit did nothing to hide his obesity. A glance in his chest confirmed he was a Happy Meal away from a heart attack. Clark wondered if he knew, and that was why he was acting so carelessly.

Lois turned on him, the movement making her long blue dress ripple enchantingly in the lighting of the ball room they were in. Clark thought that Jimmy should be taking pictures of _her_ instead of old men fat off their money. Clark wondered how he ever became friends with someone as brash and beautiful as Lois, who demanded attention wherever she went, when he had spent his whole life sticking to the shadows. Maybe he used her to hide behind more often than he liked to admit; he hated being dishonest to her, and a part of him felt like he was manipulating her in some way. However, he had a secret to keep and a family to protect, so he never allowed himself to feel guilty for long.

“We are currently standing in _Wayne Manor,_ at the _Martha Wayne Foundation Annual Charity Ball, _which_ anyone_ who means _anything_ attends, and _you_, a _Journalist_, are more interested in the _hors-fucking-d'oeuvres!” _She ranted.

“They’re delicious,” Clark defended, and ate the tomato bruschetta he’d been holding to prove his point.

Lois rolled her eyes and muttered something that made Jimmy snort, before marching away to ambush some unsuspecting politician. Jimmy and Clark shared a significant look, but silently agreed to let her do her thing until someone started crying.

Lois didn’t know that Clark had been listening in to every mundane conversation at this ball the whole night, and, while he had discovered two pregnancies, five affairs and one proposal, nothing of any real interest had been discussed.

He decided to follow vaguely in Lois’ direction, hoping to avoid Lex, who had just arrived. Clark couldn’t count on him not to make a scene now that they were both away from their home city—he had been hoping that Lex’s criminal methods towards business would keep him off the guest list, but, apparently, Bruce Wayne didn’t care. Commissioner Gordon, who had earnt a lot of respect for cleaning up the G.C.P.D., barely spared Lex a disapproving glance. Well, this _was_ Gotham.

Clark took a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and downed half of it—the alcohol did nothing for him, but he still appreciated the taste. While he was distracted, his head tilted up to swallow the drink, he felt something hit him and bounce back. Startled by someone being able to get that close to him without him noticing, he spilt his champagne—thankfully not onto his rented suit, but to the side—and looked down to see a young boy of about nine sitting on the floor in front of him, looking dazed. 

Clark blindly shoved his empty glass into the hands of the nearest person to him and squatted down so his face was level to the boy’s. The boy blinked twice, then his eyes seemed to focus on Clark’s. His head wasn’t bleeding or bruised, and his skull wasn’t fractured anywhere. _Thank Rao_. Clark’s heart sped up in worry over what could have happened, how bad the boy could have been hurt. He had never run at something that didn’t break upon impact, but he could imagine what it might have felt like. This boy—who was way too young to be at this kind of gathering, who invited him?—was probably feeling that now.

“I am so sorry, son. Are you alright?” Clark questioned. The boy let out a shaky breath before grinning.

“It’s not your fault; I shoulda looked where I was going. Besides from being embarrassed I’m fine,” the boy laughed, and let Clark pull him up to his feet. The top of his head was about level with Clark’s navel.

Clark glanced around, but no one was making their way towards them. Beside from his well-fitted suit, the boy looked completely out of place. His black hair was in need of a cut and looked like it had been messy even before he ran into him. He had a nude plaster across his chin that looked brighter than it was against the boy’s olive-toned skin. He couldn’t place his accent, but he knew it wasn’t a Gotham one.

“Where are your parents?” Clark queried. _Didn’t they ever teach you not to run off? _He added in his head.

Never before had he received such an incredulous look; the fact it came from a pre-pubescent kid made the outrage seem even more ridiculous. The boy’s dark eyebrows furrowed and jaw dropped (he was missing a bottom tooth). He wondered if anyone could take a kid this cute seriously.

“What do you mean, ‘where are my parents?’” The kid quoted him in an exaggerated southern accent. “Do you even know whose party you’re at?”

He was glad Lois wasn’t here to see him get patronised at by a kid. Jimmy had made his way to the other side of the room, so there wouldn’t be any embarrassing photos, either.

“Uh, Bruce Wayne’s, I think. I mean, this _is_ his house. It’d be a bit awkward if someone else were to host it,” Clark smiled goofily.

The boy took a deep breath, and Clark prepared himself to be lectured—he was more than happy to indulge the boy while his parents looked for him; he loved children and the fact that he was never going to be able to have any was probably the thing he hated the most about being an alien.

However, before the boy could begin his rant, Bruce Wayne himself appeared at his side and placed a broad hand on his shoulder. That was twice in five minutes someone got the drop on him—he was getting rusty. Clark had seen pictures of the man before, and had noted with a professional objectivity that he could understand why so many women would want to date him. Seeing him in person proved that the pictures hardly did him justice; the man had a _presence_ about him that could only be felt in his vicinity. It was the same kind of charm that Lois and Lex had, the one that had drawn him towards them in the past, but it seemed a lot less forced—the man seemed perfectly comfortable in his skin, his heartbeat was slow and steady, and didn’t seem at all fussed by half the room staring at him. Clark had to admit, he was slightly envious.

“Dick,” Wayne chastised, but he looked amused. “You said you were just going to grab some food. Don’t tell me you’ve been bothering this man the whole time.”

“I was _not_—”

“Oh, he wasn’t—”

They both cut each other off. The boy—Dick—pouted at him while he grinned apologetically.

Wayne raised an eyebrow, nodding at Clark to carry on. Dick crossed his arms.

“It was an accident, really. This young man here wasn’t looking where he was going, and we had a collision. He fell over, but I don’t think he’s hurt—I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention.”

Wayne gave a long-suffering sigh. “Dick, what have I told you about being aware of your surrounding?”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Well, _gee_, sorry for not expecting to run into a _brick wall_ in the centre of a room.”

“Watch your tone,” Wayne chided, but he still looked amused. “Did you apologise to Mister…?” Wayne tilted his head at him.

“Kent,” he offered.

“Ah, with _The Daily Planet_, of course,” Wayne nodded, and, wow, it wasn’t every day you got your name recognised by a billionaire.

“Sorry, Mister Kent,” Dick intoned.

“No harm, no foul. Well, beside from the slipping hazard on the floor …” Clark glanced at the sizeable puddle of spilt champagne and remembered the height of Lois’ heels.

“Oh, your drink,” Wayne waved for a waitress, and one appeared almost instantly. He grabbed two glasses and passed one to Clark, who took it gratefully. “Someone will clean it up in no time. Dick, why don’t you go bother the Commissioner’s daughter, she looked bored when I last saw her.”

Dick perked up. “Bye, Mister Kent. Bye, Bruce.” He turned and was lost in the crowd of socialites straight away.

“That’s one energetic kid you’ve got there, Mr. Wayne,” Clark observed, sipping the champagne—delicious.

“You can say that again,” Wayne chuckled. “Last week I had to talk him down from swinging on the chandelier.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “The one you see coming in? That’s got to be …”

“Six metres up? I know. And when I told him that, all I got in return was ‘don’t be so boring, Bruce!’ and ‘this is nothing compared to the circus, Bruce!’” He rolled his eyes fondly.

“I wish I could have kids,” he said wistfully, not caring if he was oversharing—he was never going to meet this man again, anyway.

“It’s funny, I never saw myself as a parent … not after my childhood. Especially not at twenty-two. But, it … it’s been tough, for the both of us, but it’s worth it. I cannot recommend adoption enough,” Wayne clasped his shoulder.

“When the time’s right, with the right person, then, maybe,” he agreed, finding himself pleasantly surprised at Wayne’s humility—it’s not something he would have thought a man with his reputation would have.

“Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, talking? When did _this_ happen, Brucie? Clark, it’s been a while,” suddenly the man he had been hoping to avoid was forcing his way between him and Wayne. Clark didn’t need super-senses to tell that Lex was drunk.

“Lex,” he said curtly.

“You two know each other?” Wayne glanced between them.

“We were _close_ friends in Smallville,” Lex stage-whispered. While he and Wayne had been talking relatively privately, they now were making a bit of a scene.

“Yes,” Clark said, because it was true.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up …” Wayne said, and Clark gave him a desperate look. Wayne winked, but left anyway. _Traitor._

“Out of prison, then, Lex?” Clark said amicably.

“Was barely there. I’d tell you not to be too disappointed, but that was always your default with me, wasn’t it?” Lex smirked, eyes narrowed.

“Look, you’ve been drinking … I think I still have your driver’s number, I could give her a ring for you …”

“I’m not embarrassing you, am I?”

“No. Just yourself.”

“_Ooh,_ there it is. Would you believe me if I told you I missed your condescending tone?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I missed your—”

Before he said something he’d probably regret, Lex stumbled forward into Clark and swore loudly. Clark caught him effortlessly, and when he looked over Lex’s head he saw Dick holding an empty glass, a mischievous grin on his face.

“_Whoops._ Didn’t see ya there, Mister Luthor. I hope that suit wasn’t expensive or anything,” Dick’s face morphed into something along the lines of apologetic.

Lex pushed away from him and stood up straight. He tugged his jacket off and held it up. The entire back was covered in bits of orange juice.

“Yikes. That really _is_ bad. Sorry?” Dick offered.

Lex took a deep breath. “Excuse me,” he said stiffly, and left towards the toilets.

Clark crossed his arms, “that wasn’t a nice thing you did, Dick.”

Dick shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

“I’m beginning to think that you ran into me on purpose.”

“Why would I do that? What’s so special ‘bout you?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Clark sighed. “It’s getting late; you should be getting to bed, and I have interviews to do. Do you know where Bruce is?”

Dick nodded and held his hand out. “So I don’t hit anyone again,” he explained.

Clark was sure he was being manipulated, but he gently—_gently_—held Dick’s hand and let him lead him through the crowd. Dick kept trying to pull him through gaps he couldn’t fit into, and he bumped into Lois on the way. At her quizzical glance, he couldn’t do more than shrug and keep moving.

They were almost at the other end of the house when he finally saw Wayne, who was conversing with an impeccably-dressed elderly man.

“Ah, Master Richard, there you are. Master Bruce and I were just discussing the pros and cons of tagging children with tracking devices. Would you care to offer your opinion on the matter?” The apparently English elderly man said.

“I knew you’d miss me, Alfred. This is Mister Kent. He’s nothing special,” Dick smirked.

“Really, Master Dick? Must you be so rude?” Alfred asked.

“It’s fine; Mister Kent’s my friend. He reminds me of Auntie Diana,” Dick explained.

“That’s high praise,” Wayne commented.

“Diana’s a princess,” Dick whispered conspiringly to him.

“Oh, really?” Clark replied. “While it’s been fun making friends with you, Dick, I gotta go do my job, so …”

“Sorry for the trouble,” Wayne offered.

Clark shook his head. “You’ll be wanting to apologise to Lex in the morning.”

He nodded to Wayne, ruffled Dick’s hair, and turned away. He heard Wayne ask Dick ‘_did it look good?’ _to which Dick replied, ‘_naturally.’_

**Author's Note:**

> when i say this has been sat in my documents for years im not exaggerating. I saw this as i was sorting through my laptop and thought it would be sweet to post it, for myself more than anyone else who stumbles across this fic. i do have some more written, but this will never be the 5 + 1 thing i had planned years ago; reading through this, im struggling to even remember names and places.
> 
> i hope people who love the comics as much as i used to find and enjoy this.
> 
> stream chicken noodle soup and stay happy everyone - A


End file.
